Atmosphere you can hold onto
Light you can lean against
Senses overcome

Another world
Where you can dream you belong

Carry me away
Let me float
or don’t let me down gently

Thoughts
Watching them go by
Wondering how to rejoin

Just you

and I

and us

and them

lost together.

A butterfly or a moth
A mouse or a rat
Life in damp places
Life lived uphill

Clutter or calm
Grounded again
Body is lost
Start over

Walking a forever staircase
Happiness sits far away

Forwards to the other side?
A bit like my mind

Taunting the sun
Toying with its rays

Indifferent glow
Walls peel like skin

Colours alight
Doping up on energy

Lately
Everything is flat
No textures to touch
Tastes are bland
Breaths are disappointing
Colours or none
Instead of scratches and prickles
I want things to stab
And shatter

Click on the cover to view the book… and click your way through the pages.

The little book tool is pretty simple and if for any reason you can’t view it, let me know. It isn’t suitable for small screens at the moment, but any smaller and it would not be readable anyway. It’s difficult to effectively show a book online.

The physical version is 12 x 12 inches, hard cover and 52 pages.

Somewhere on the side of the road between the hot tar and the cracked desert.

Like the earth’s skin. With its pores, its hairs, its imperfections, but without perspiration.

Something different.
Something unusual.
Something new.
Something a little less ordinary.
Something strange.
Something to heighten the senses.
Something to whet the appetite.
Something to shake up the bloodstream.
Something to brighten the mood.
Something for a moment.
Something while it lasts.
Something worth remembering.

so long
clinging climbing crashing
feet to torso dangling
splashing sputtering suffocating
partially submerged
icy numbs fiery sears
again with familiar again with time
easy to warm to the cold

A dragonfly caught in a spider’s web. It stops struggling to watch the sun go down. Roots of mangroves intertwine. Hands joined or endless struggle.

A forest peephole mirrors the world outside. Forgotten by tomorrow. A ripple in a creek otherwise calm. A sigh for something, somewhere.

That’s the thing about living.

Loneliness may inspire poetry. Isolation may be a good time to write poetry. But there’s nothing poetic about the feeling of being alone.

My image was used on the cover of a book entitled I Made You to Find Me by Jane Hedley.

When the designer asked to use my image for a book on poetry, I wondered if they’d really comprehended my title and accompanying text. I realised the words “poetry” and “typewriter” brought them to my image. I just felt that my title did not exactly paint ponies for poetry.

I decided that it probably made no difference to them. I have always insisted my work should be read for the individual and that there is no correct method of interpretation. However, I have a volatile memory and forget to be myself at times. So I was eventually content knowing everybody would see it from a different perspective and no title could change that.

Much, much later on I received a package in the mail from Ohio, USA. I sat down and scratched my head for a little while wondering what it might be. I could have just torn it open, but for some reason we peculiar beings take a moment, don’t we?

When I found myself staring into a photograph I had captured (one which I’d never actually printed), I finally allowed myself to see it as an object and an idea. Not only had I not been open to ideas outside my own selfish thoughts, but I had never really comprehended my own title.

No sooner than I had set eyes upon the contents of the package, I realised the very nature of the author’s work, I Made You to Find Me, illustrated the connection to my image.